


In Translation

by StarsInMyDamnEyes



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Based off a Tumblr Thread, Crack, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Jaskier is a little shit, Jaskier is an enigma, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mysteriously and unageingly, about the horrific translations and possible translations of jaskier, also it’s far too wordy to be properly funny, honestly i just want him to be there, i’m very sorry I’m incredibly aro and have never attempted to write ship before I’m SORRY, jaskier is a victim of translation but here it is translation who is a victim of jaskier, this is a crackfic, this is the gen-est shippy thing ever written and I’m so sorry, with no explanation offered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsInMyDamnEyes/pseuds/StarsInMyDamnEyes
Summary: Geralt had been travelling with the man for a while without knowing what his companion’s name was, but he did eventually find out what his enigmatic bard was actually called, after longer than he’d like to admit.It’s not what he thought it would be.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 314





	In Translation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brothebro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/gifts).



> This was inspired by a [tumblr post](https://brothebro.tumblr.com/post/614654889839181824/oh-god-yes-at-one-point-geralt-stops-calling-the) and I
> 
> I had to
> 
> Apparently Jaskier’s name translated into Greek can mean ‘babe’ and well

Geralt had felt minutely ashamed that, in all their years of travelling together, he had not actually managed to pick up on the bard’s name.

Of course, he hadn’t thought it pertinent information in the beginning, back when they’d met and he was still doing his best to shake the bard off and never see him again, but then he’d stuck around, for some unknown reason, and it had gotten far too awkward to simply _ask_. They’d been travelling together, on and off, for the best part of over a decade and a half, after all - and it wasn’t that it would be awkward to ask, but if the bard ever found out the Geralt had gone all this time not knowing his damn name, he doubted that he’d ever hear the end of it.

So Geralt had gone with the usual tactic - to listen for others to call the bard by his name and pretend he’d known it all along, just... casually, as one did.

It didn’t help at all, however, that by his estimate, the bard - the _damn bard_ \- had bedded half the fucking continent, since the general population all seemed far too willing to refer to him as _babe_ and _babe_ only.

He’d known that the bard was promiscuous, so to speak, but Geralt was utterly floored as to when he’d found the time.

Still, in retrospect, he should have guessed that something weird was going on when the bard referred to himself as babe, just casually, as one did - _The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Babe’s triumphant performance!_

At the time, he’d taken it for a joke, a bit of flirtation, and nothing more. After all, such a joke would be by no means out of character for the bard, and Geralt had brushed it off like he did so many of the man’s more peculiar traits - he was rather enigmatic after all, what with his utter lack of regard for his own safety, his curiously youthful looks despite _something_ in Geralt’s brain nagging at him, telling him that _near-forty-year-old humans do not look exactly the same as they did when they were eighteen, regardless of how religiously they slather oils onto their skin_ , and all the man’s other quirks of personality that, whilst innocent enough in their own right, cumulated to paint a rather suspicious picture of a man who was somewhat more than he first appeared to be - and if Geralt had tried to unravel the enigma that was his travelling companion and grudging friend, he was sure he’d exhaust himself just thinking about it.

Still, the man’s _name_ was something of a lesser curiosity, something that Geralt allowed himself to ponder upon from time to time. Did he simply not have one? That certainly was curious, for a human but especially for a bard, whose career did rather hinge on having a reliable public personality. A name was a rather integral part of that, after all.

But he’d ended up leaving it well enough alone - generally, Geralt had more pressing matters to worry about than whatever oddity his bard - _the_ bard! - was exhibiting presently.

Then, of course, it had all come to a head in one of those shitty little backwater taverns that they frequented so often.

They were bantering, having an argument about something or other that was really no argument at all, more a friendly exchange of barbs and insults than anything approaching an actual discussion, when the bard had surprised him, surprised Geralt beyond what he’d believed possible, with one short sentence.

“Bard,” he’d growled, trying to buy himself time to think of some witticism or other he could sling back at him after the veritable epic of insults he’d just had recited to him.

“Excuse you, my name is _Babe_.”

And then Geralt’s brain had frozen utterly, ceasing all functionality and breaking his composure just long enough for his next words to escape his traitorous mouth.

“Your name is fucking _what_?”

The bard - _Babe_ \- wore a similar look of surprise as had overtaken Geralt’s face - his name was _fucking Babe_ \- and he burst into peals of laughter, no doubt at Geralt’s expense. Which was, by all accounts, fair enough, and a far better reaction to the revelation that a man you’d travelled with for almost twenty years now had not, up until the previous moment, known your _name_ , but in Geralt’s defence, what kind of a name was _Babe_?

Apparently it was a pet name derived from a flower name in another language, or something like that. The explanation had ended up rather more confusing than the situation itself in the first place, rather - a story of translations and mistranslations and things getting lost in translation, after which Geralt was left wondering why the bard didn’t simply pick a less confusing and less awkward name.

Then again, if Geralt could find an explanation for anything _Babe_ did, he’d doubt that the man who did it was his bard at all.

 _The bard_. Gods damn it.

After the incident in the tavern, Geralt had begun to refer to the bard by name.

Obviously not in places frequented by other people. He wasn’t about to let half the continent get the wrong idea about him and... Babe.

He did, however, deign to call Babe, _Babe_ when they were trekking lonely roads between backwater towns, or making camp in the forest, or generally located somewhere he would not be overheard.

Babe, damn him, had noticed this, because of _course_ he had, and he found it incredibly amusing.

Well. To each their own.

To each their own, Geralt supposed, and stuck with his current arrangement - _bard_ in public, _Babe_ in private - but, it was such a careful and specific dance of when and where exactly he’d refer to the man as what that he was bound to slip up eventually.

It wasn’t on a road where a traveller was passing him by.

It wasn’t in a tavern, where they’d gotten drunk enough to give Geralt plausible deniability.

No, it was sitting in a circle on a dragon hunt, _surrounded by people who didn’t know Babe’s name was Babe_ , and generally the worst situation where he could have slipped up at all.

Babe had, as was customary, slung an insult in the direction of Yennefer of Vengerberg, because apparently pissing off people who could kill him with a snap of their fingers qualified a highly amusing pastime for the bard, of course it did, but then Geralt had _stupidly_ decided to maybe mitigate Babe’s antics and nudged him - alright, slapped him, but _lightly_ \- in the arm, and hissed a warning at him.

“ _Dammit, Babe_ ,” he growled, quietly, but not quietly enough that the entire entourage didn’t hear him.

The silence that followed was broken only by the nosies provided by Sir Eyck’s stomach before Yennefer, because of course it was fucking _Yennefer_ , opened her mouth, and Geralt felt, in that moment, his life was surely over.

“ _Babe_ , Geralt? I had no idea that you and your bard were so close.”

“I am _not_ ,” Geralt said, and he was fairly certain that his slow heartbeat was the only reason that his face was not currently a rather embarrassing shade of red, “ _dating the fucking bard, Yennefer_.”

He could hear Babe beside him, trying and failing to muffle his snorts of laughter, and good for him, at least the matter could be amusing to at least one of them.

Geralt was never living this down.

“So, what, you call all your friends _babe_ , Geralt?”

“That’s his _name_ ,” Geralt ground out, and from the peals of laughter that he was met with, Yennefer didn’t believe him at all.

After that incident, Geralt had, much to Babe’s amusement, tried to find a nickname for the bard - for the sake of his dignity, if nothing else. _Babs_ and _Bae_ and the like were met with amusement from the bard, and maybe he was laughing at the names, maybe it was Geralt’s frustration that amused him so much, and really, who knew?

One thing that was, for certain, however, was the fact that when Geralt finally settled on a nickname, it was the one name that the bard utterly _despised_.

“Should I skin the rabbits, Geralt?”

“Yes,” he grunted. “Bob.”

At this declaration, Babe’s face went slack, jaw dropping, and Geralt had written it off as his usual theatrics, nothing more and nothing less. After all, Babe was nothing if not a drama queen.

Then again, Geralt couldn’t help noticing Babe’s disappointment, stretching on until not even the wildest of imaginations could have twisted it into something excusable as _dramatics_.

It had started off small.

Babe had gotten a bit quieter, more subdued around the campfires he built and Geralt lit with an Igni, and at first Geralt had tried to convince himself that he was thankful for the peace.

But even the most emotionally constipated of men could tell that the name, the _damn_ name, was wearing on Babe. Fuck, even _Lambert_ would have realised that the nickname was cruel before Geralt did, and the man took a certain kind of pride in being a dick to people the way Geralt ended up doing on accident half the time.

The streams of chatter on the road were silenced, first, Babe cutting himself off every time Geralt called him _Bob_ and not resuming the rather one-sided flow of conversation as he always had before.

Then he stopped singing.

Stopped strumming his lute.

Fell silent completely.

And it was absolutely, completely, and utterly Geralt’s fault. Was he really so shallow that he’d rather make his bard - _the_ bard, fuck, _the_ bard! - miserable rather than be mistaken for being in a relationship with him?

Yes, Geralt realised. He was, in fact, that shallow, and here was the fucking proof. _Well done, you idiot witcher_.

He almost heard it in Babe’s voice.

Regardless, the stupid nickname was hurting Babe, perhaps more than Geralt had realised to begin with, so he swallowed his pride and decided to make it up.

They’d ended up in a tavern, once again, and it was uncomfortably crowded, with patrons who were uncomfortably sober, but damn it, he’d decided to do this, so do it he would.

Fuck, you’d think he was planning to castrate himself, or something. All he was going to do - _all he was going to do_ \- was finally refer to his bard by his _damn_ name.

If only he could think of something to say.

“Are you going to eat your potatoes, or just let them go cold, Babe?” Geralt grunted, in the end.

Babe’s fork clattered to his plate, and his head snapped up, wide blue eyes meeting Geralt’s. Then, slowly, a smile - a big, beautiful, beaming smile - spread across his face, and something warmed in Geralt’s heart.

“You called me Babe.”

Geralt grunted. “It’s your name.”

“What about those rumours you so desperately don’t want people to believe?”

“Fuck it. They can believe what they want to believe.”

Geralt wanted to tell him, in so many more words, that Babe’s happiness was so much more important to him than a few stupid rumours, and that he was an idiot and a pillock for ever thing otherwise, ever letting himself think otherwise.

But he had no idea where to begin.

“Even Yennefer?” Babe asked, a note of incredulity in his voice, and Geralt couldn’t possibly tell if it was genuine or joking.

“Even Yennefer.”

Babe’s grin grew a little wider. “Does this mean we’re actually dating now?”

Wait, fuck, no, that wasn’t what Geralt had been going for at all, whatsoever.

“Babe, please be serious.”

“Yep,” Babe smirked. “We are definitely dating.”

Geralt let himself sink to the table and groaned into his hands.

“You know, I’m thinking of changing my name, anyways. Back to Jaskier. That’s what I had, originally.”

Geralt’s head snapped up. What? Why the whole Babe debacle, then?

His emotions must have shown on his face, because Babe smiled at him. “It would kind of ruin the effect, don’t you think, if everyone else called me babe too?”

And Geralt looked at his bard - _his bard who he was probably, definitely dating now_ \- and returned his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Hdkjshdfkjhsadkjfhk i don’t think my writing style is suited to this but I hope you could gave a laugh
> 
> Anyways I’m @stars-in-my-damn-eyes on tumblr which I finally remembered to say here
> 
> Come yell at me about the Witcher


End file.
